Two young men straddling their hopes and dreams across their chests
Rocking out in silence in their rooms at night
Searching through their folks’ vinyl for retro tunes
And hoping that when they plug in their guitars
They somehow encapsulate all their favourite songs.
But now we’re just grand plans and electric strings
And a history of names, but no songs
And no, we are no band
We’re just two wanna be stoners with guitars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem